Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Post traumatic stress

I see the older gray haired woman at the gas tank. A younger man
maybe in his 30's? is there also. They seem to be talking. He is animated, restless, walking
back and forth.
She puts the hose on the tank; she takes the hose out of the car's tank,
walks away to search the car for something, walks back; she puts the hose back
in the tank.

He is loud. He is saying she is wrecking the tank.

She ignores this, says, "How far are you going to drive?"
Full of angst he shouts, "I don't know."
His arms are crossed over his chest, like he isn't going to contribute anything,
not if he can help it.

She insists he look inside the vehicle at the gas gauge. He gets louder,
says he's not a child. He shouts at her, "I know what I am doing."

Maybe he's having flashbacks from a war.
It's as if bombs are exploding around him as he talks loudly, moving
his hands at her.

I wouldn't want to be her. I wonder if she is safe
around this person and how they got to this place.

They are only putting gas into a car and it looks like someone is experiencing
a terrorist attack on their life. But the woman isn't yelling, isn't carrying
weapons, only talking, not yelling. It doesn't appear that she is doing anything
extraordinary, just getting gas and trying to determine how much to do. It looks
like he must be the one using the car and she is paying. And she needs to know
how much he'll need.

Suffering is everywhere. There is a cause. There is a way out of suffering.
Right view, right thinking. Resting in the river.


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